


Mirrored

by arthurwhoregan



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: It’s kinda sad... jks it’s rly sad, M/M, This was......... self indulgent.., but I liked how I wrote this so.... here u go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurwhoregan/pseuds/arthurwhoregan
Summary: Look closely, and you’ll find exactly what you’re missing.





	Mirrored

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks. This ones a one shot sad smut story. It’s emo and it made me depressed. Yeethaw.
> 
> follow me on Twitter @hiccupsleg if you want cowboy shitposting

With a loud crash, John entered his bedroom. Drunk, depressed and desolate he miraculously found the end of his bed and sat down. With a third bottle of whiskey in one hand and Morgans pistol in the other, the ex-outlaw brought the barrel to his lips and closed his eyes. He could taste the cold iron and gunpowder. He could feel the grooves on the ivory handle that were worn in from years of service by Arthur. He nearly pulled the trigger, but instead threw it away, scattering pathetically across the floorboards and the bottle with it.  
John Marston wanted to die, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t die... he promised Arthur...  
Arthur... John looked up from the end of the bed and saw the reflection of the mirror in front of him. Yet in his drunken, miserable state he couldn’t recognise himself. The darkness of the room was mixing in with the pale moonlight that filtered through a murky window.  
John wasn’t staring back at himself, he knew that, but who was the figure in the mirror? As John moved, the figure moved- almost distortedly through his eyes. John’s thumb rubbed the rim of his leather hat, and the figure did the same. His fingers tugged on the red fabric around his neck, the scent of Arthur still forever lingering in the cloth. His hand slid downwards on a tanned neck, a heaving chest and spread legs. John could see his hand running across the figure in the mirror. A figure that seemed so familiar it made John’s throat close up and tears prickle.  
“Arthur...” John choked out.  
He was never one to cry.  
He was looking Arthur. His partner. The man he loved more than anything in this godforsaken land, and in his state he could hear Arthur’s voice. He had been hearing it for days now, trying to ignore it. Trying to forget it. Perhaps John was too drunk to realise he was simply talking to himself, or it was simply grief. or perhaps he did notice and indulged anyway. No one was around to see or to judge, and his heart and soul yearned for it.  
“Yeah... it’s me, Marston...” Came a deep voice from the darkness, or so John thought.  
In that instance, John Marston started to weep. His arms held himself close. Arms that he could see were holding Arthur. Clinging to the rough jacket that still smelt of the mans favourite tobacco. That still smelt of Arthur Morgan.  
“I missed you so much...” John spoke back to the voice of Arthur, trying to compose a simple reply through tears.  
He had never been so forthright with his emotions either.  
“I know, I know. I missed you too.”  
“D-Don’t you leave again I- I need you round here...” John’s voice cracked in response.  
“I can’t make any promises, but I’m here now John. I’m here now.”  
Through John’s tears his arms dropped, and a hand moved down to paw at his crotch in desperation. For years he’d abstained from any sort of sensual touch. Nothing from Abigail nor himself. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, but now that Arthur was back...  
John moaned into the jacket collar, the leather seeming to kiss at his chapped and scarred lips.  
“Arthur... I want to touch you again...”  
There was silence at that request, and John sat on the edge of the bed watching his hand grasp at ‘Arthur’s’ crotch.  
“C’mon Arthur... please...” he begged through more salted tears.  
“Alright, Alright.” Finally the familiar, rough voice replies.  
“You can touch me, John. I’ve missed your hands...”  
The sound that came from John Marston that night was something euphoric. John could see his hand on a cock- his lovers cock, after so many years. The reflection showed him the movements of his hand. The way the thumb slid across the tip just as Arthur always liked- just as Arthur still liked. John shuddered in delight and complete submission.  
“I missed you- this- so much Arthur... Please I-“  
“I know, Marston. I know.” A hand cupping his cheek. He could not even make out if it were his own hand, or Morgan’s.  
“I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. I’m sorry I never told you.”  
John was breathing heavily. Shaking with emotion and pleasure.  
“I’m just tryin’ to be like you, Arthur. I just want you to know how much I love you...”  
“I know how much you love me, John. I know. I always know.”  
“P-please Arthur I-“, Pausing in embarrassment as a flash of reality transmits through his drunken brain. It does not last long.  
“- I just want to be your good boy again...”  
More silence followed after that small conversation, but John was transfixed by the image of his hand finally able to do what it’s always done. To pleasure Arthur. Arthur’s hips seemed to arch into the tight vice he made with his fist, and moans filled the otherwise quiet air. Only an old oak clock ticking out of time was there to break up any silence on any other night.  
“You’re my good boy, John. You’re my good boy.”  
John cried out in both moans and tears. He could feel them both getting ready to come. It can’t happen. Not yet. It can’t end.  
“Please- Arthur-“ John sobbed.  
“It’s okay. I’m still with you. I’m always gonna be with you.”  
“But- but what if you ain’t.”  
His body and mind suddenly became calm as the other man continued to speak. A wave of pleasure and tranquility, as if Arthur had simply banished all problems, shot them all away with remarkable aim. Maybe he had.  
“Then make me be with you. If you do that, I won’t go anywhere. Be my good boy and keep me with you. Be my precious thing... and stay by my side. Like you always have been. Never take off that red around your neck.. you hear me...”  
John moaned loudly in reply. So loudly that it could have been possible for people to have heard, if anyone was around.  
“Yes Arthur- always. I’ll always stay by your side”  
“Good” is all that John heard back.  
The hand that was stroking Arthur’s cheeks moved around his throat and choked John’s neck. It felt familiar. It felt natural. It felt so fucking good.  
“Yes! Arthur! More!” Jack exclaimed, feeling the breath leave his body.  
“You’ve always been my pretty slut... even now...”  
“Y-yes Arthur- always your slut- always, always, alw-“  
The grip had gotten tighter and John’s eyes rolled back. Drool dripping from his mouth like the tears in his eyes.  
“Make us come. Now.” Arthur commanded.  
And John could do nothing but oblige. It was in his very nature, his very blood to obey Arthur Morgan. That was his duty.  
When John came, it went everywhere. Onto the floor, the bed sheets, his thighs and even shirt. The orgasmic moan rung through the halls of the hotel. He had not felt like that in years. Only Arthur could make him feel like that.  
“Don’t forget to clean up the mess” was the last thing John heard Arthur say to him. Falling off the bed in a stupidly satisfied mess he smiled to the ground, lapping up the mess he made- a sticky mess of cum and whiskey. Whether it was his own or truly Arthur’s he could not tell. John fell asleep like that. Face pressed into the floorboards.  
“I love you, Arthur Morgan” was the last thing John said as he slipped into the sweet oblivion of drunken sleep. 

There was no reply back.


End file.
